Nobody's Fool
by BrenRenQoI
Summary: What if Lois Lane had not actually been fooled for one second by Clark’s Super-disguise… and rather than call him out, decided that her wisest course of action would be to play along—with a vengeance!


Nobody's Fool  
By Bren Ren

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Summary: What if Lois Lane had not actually been fooled for one second by Clark's Super-disguise… and rather than call him out, decided that her wisest course of action would be to play along—with a vengeance!

Rating: General Audiences, Approved for All Ages

Disclaimer: Since this variation of the dual-identity legend is very likely never to grace the screen, small or large, just let me have some fun with it here! For personal entertainment, I only wish I could get paid to write this stuff!

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Chapter One:  
Who *Are* You?

~*S*~

I stared at that countdown and I could have sworn my heart rate was doubling with every second's tick.

Suddenly, the exterior door was ripped open. The jagged sound of metal crunching and snapping startled my panic attack into hyperdrive.

And then he walked in. I quickly took in the way every perfectly sculpted curve of his well-defined muscles was shamelessly displayed in second-skin electric blue spandex. And red briefs. And that stunning red cape. The first thought that came to mind when the visual shock wore off was, _Why the hell is Clark dressed like he'd just been to a Richard Simmons rummage sale?_

Then he walked straight to the bomb like he already knew where and what it was.

I freaked. "Hey! Get away from that!" I tried to pull him back, but I may as well have been playing tug-of-war with a brick wall. Then he ripped the bomb right off the wall. "What kind of lunatic—

He put the bomb in his mouth. My jaw bounced off the deck. Then it exploded—completely contained inside his mouth. My jaw bounced a couple more times. And then… he burped.

"Excuse me," he told me politely. His voice was raspy and husky—the only hint the bomb had any affect on him—and it was a little deeper than I'd expected, but still there was nothing to dissuade me that this wasn't my new partner, clad in bright blue tights, swallowing bombs.

"What the hell are you?" _A lot more than just a farm-boy hack from Nowheresville_, I finished internally.

He smiled, and that's when it happened. My heart melted. Every moment of romantic epiphany in every sappy bodice-ripper I've ever devoured paled into oblivion compared with this moment. This was the most amazing man I'd ever met, and I knew with a flash of blinding clarity that I would be bound to him for the rest of my life.

He broke eye contact as the colonists began to filter in, and the leader looked none-too-pleased with the damage caused to the wires. "There was a bomb," I explained with a mixture of shock and awe. "He…" I paused and looked again at the costumed figure who was our savior. "He ate it," I finally finished, my eyes locked with his.

He had no idea that I'd recognized my partner beneath the flashy suit. Considering the fact that he'd saved my life, as well as those of the colonists, there was only one thing I could do. I played along.

Young wheel-chair bound Amy Platt rolled through the crowd to the mysterious hero. He smiled down at her as he greeted the girl with a warm "Hi!"

"Hi," Amy answered genially. "I like your costume," she offered with a shy grin.

"Thank you," he replied. "My mother made it for me."

Oh, that was almost too much. I had to literally bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud at the thought of Clark Kent's country farm housewife mother stitching together such a blatantly revealing spandex suit.

"What's your name?" He looked down at the child who had lost so much for the sake of this chance to walk once more.

"Amy. Amy Platt," she said with a more confident smile. "Who're you?"

The sixty-four million dollar question!

"I'm… a friend."

_You didn't think this whole alter-ego thing through before swooping in to save the day, did you, Kent?_ I carefully trained my critical eye to appear thoroughly captivated with this new hero. Not that it was difficult to do…

"Can you really fly?" Amy asked.

"Yes, I can," he answered.

_Fly?!_ I didn't know about the flying part. He can rip off steal doors, swallow bombs, and now he can fly, too? What other party tricks was he hiding up his skin-tight sleeve?

"Can you teach me?" She asks with a child's innocence.

He crouched down to meet her eye to eye. "Not to fly. But once this lab is operational, walk… that's very possible." The bright-eyed girl rewarded him with a broad grin.

Then the announcement came that the mission had to be scrubbed. The resounding timbre of this apparent superhero quieted the chorus of disappointment from the colonists. "There's nothing wrong with this transport vehicle, or the station. You only need to get there."

I stepped forward, one brow arched high and my eyes twinkling with challenge. "And how are they supposed to do that?"

"Easy," he replied with a knowing grin. "I'll give them a boost."

Now this I had to see to believe. Only a slight twinge of disappointment at not getting to go up into space flickered through me as I let myself be shepherded off the shuttle. I kept my eyes glued to the flamboyantly attired would-be superhero as he walked out of the shuttle. After several minutes, he was informed that all the colonists and crew were secured aboard the shuttle. He then simply lifted up off the platform as if gravity held no meaning to him. He floated out of sight, and moments later, the sounds of various docking clamps releasing clanged through the air as the shuttle began to slowly lift upward. The entire crowd, myself included, gasped in astonishment, and then we held our collective breaths as the form of the caped hero appeared, lifting the shuttle as if it weighed no more than the average coffee table.

The crowd began to cheer as the shuttle lifted higher and higher, only subsiding long after the shuttle disappeared from sight. After several minutes, a broadcast report announced that the shuttle had been safely docked with the space station, and the uproar began anew.

I found myself hugged by several ecstatic strangers in the crowd, but for once, my mind was far too preoccupied to mind the invasion of personal space that would normally have me wincing.

Who was this mysterious stranger I've just been partnered with? This seemingly naïve country-boy who has the power to lift a space shuttle into orbit, and a smile that completely melts my heart and turns my legs into jello, and wears such an audacious costume that leaves nothing of his amazing physique to the imagination?

I mean, really. Wow. As a distraction technique, I've got to admit, it works.

I'm still trying to shake that mental image from my head when he floats back down into view. Again with the cheering of the crowd as I push my way to the front of the melee.

"I'm sure you all have a lot of questions," he began a little awkwardly. It passed too quickly for the rest of the vultures to catch, but I know I saw a definite moment of panicked insecurity flash through his eyes. He really hadn't thought this through, I realized. This is obviously the first time he's used these abilities openly for all the world to see.

Hence the disguise. He apparently hadn't given much consideration to the alter-ego aspect of this brilliant little plan of his before revealing himself, though. So, all things considered, I really only had one choice. I had to help him. He needed me, whether he realized it or not.

He gave the crowd a brief description of his activities with the shuttle and the space station before they began pelting him with questions.

"How strong are you? Is there anything you can't lift?" These questions managed to ring out louder than the rest.

"Well, I have yet to meet my threshold," he answered ambiguously. _Good for him_, I thought_. Don't give them too much detail right now. Save that for my exclusive._

"Can you breathe in space?" Another reporter called out.

"Not as far as I know," he answered, careful to keep his intonation deep, resonant, and neutral. "But I can hold my breath for a really long time."

"How fast can you fly?" The next query came loud and long from somewhere in the back of the crowd.

"I've never timed myself, but I can break the sound barrier comfortably." He seemed to be growing more rigid with each question, but that sign of his discomfort was barely discernable, even to me.

I had a question of my own. "What does it feel like to fly?" I called out to him, my voice loud, steady, and strong. His head snapped in my direction and our eyes locked. I caught flashes of challenge and relief mixed in his gaze before he answered.

"It's incredible," he began as he stepped toward me. "But it's hard to describe." He stopped a step and a half away from me, looking down at me with that smile of his. "Perhaps I could show you. Would you care for a lift?"

Now how in the world am I supposed to turn an offer like that down? "All the way to the Daily Planet?" I ask back.

"To your very desk, if you like," he replied, and I swear, there was a twinkling in his eyes behind that remark.

"In that case… I'd love a lift." And then he did it. He swept me off my feet! Literally. And in the next breath, gravity suddenly stopped applying to me; I was weightless and cradled in the arms of a man who could fly. Part of me died and went to heaven right then and there. I gasped along with the chorus of the crowd below us, and for a while, all I could do was stare in awe as we drifted farther and farther up and away.

Finally, I tore my gaze away from the magnificent scenery to really take in the face of the man carrying me, now mere inches from my own. He's still got that smile on his face, I noticed before shifting my focus to each of my other senses in turn: the sound of the wind rushing through my ears, the crisp, clean taste of the air up here so high above the earth, the warmth radiating from the firm body I was nestled so closely against, and the musky, alluring scent I'd come to love the first time he leaned over my shoulder to read my computer screen. Oh boy, I was in trouble.

Fortunately, the feelings of amazement and awe were powerful enough in my expression to drown out any other tell-tale signs of the ninety-mile-a-second rollercoaster ride my mind had taken off on. It was also a good thing he was carefully keeping his gaze straight ahead with deliberate focus. This left me free to finally take a good look at the man, up close and personal.

Same eyes, same profile… and then he glanced aside and graced me with another glimpse of that smile. There was not a doubt left in my mind now. So the next obvious question was… why? Why the flashy costume, the mysterious superhero persona? The equally obvious answer was that he didn't want the world to know that Clark Kent was really the farmboy-wonder. He swooped in and saved the day, in a way only he could, and had yet to ask for even so much as a thank you.

Well, since he had saved my life and all, the least a girl could do would be to show a little gratitude, right? "Thank you," I said. My voice was so soft that I was amazed he'd heard me over the rush of wind.

This time, when he looked down, he held my gaze for much longer than his previous glances. I could still see that partner of mine somewhere in those eyes, but there was something more… so much more… and I was dying to learn everything I could about just what that something more was.

"You're welcome," he said at last, his voice still low and deep, resonating in my ears clearly over the din of fast moving air. Our eyes held locked for several more moments, and time just seemed to stand still. I felt utterly helpless, trapped in his stare with wide-eyed hero-worship as I wondered just who this man really was.

He's obviously not doing this for reward or recognition, since he clearly did not want the world to know that a seemingly ordinary journalist had these superhuman abilities. From what I've seen of him so far, though, he is definitely not the type to stand idly by when there is something he can do to help. He must have created this disguise through which he could openly use these otherworldly abilities to help wherever he could in order to preserve that ordinary life. Judging by the response of the crowd we'd just left behind, the media circus I imagined was by no doubt brewing below us as we flew towards the Daily Planet, and the response I could well imagine to the story I would be writing myself, he'd certainly made a wise decision. Probably the only decision he could make if he really wanted to lead any sort of normal life.

Although why a man who could fly, for whom the world was quite literally his playground, would want to live out an ordinary life as a big city newspaper reporter wasn't something I could fathom quite yet.

That was the life he had chosen to lead, though, and I can't help but respect that, just as I could respect his desire for some small measure of a personal, private life. As I considered the many ways he could help the people of this city, even the entire world, I quickly came to the conclusion that I wanted, needed to do everything I could to help him, not just in saving the world, but just as importantly, in protecting that much needed normal life and balancing what were sure to be the difficult demands of each of those roles.

As the landmark globe of the Daily Planet building came into view on the distant horizon, I made one more critical decision as to how I was going to handle this whole secret-identity issue from this point forward. I won't tell him a thing. He won't know that I know until he decides he's ready to tell me himself. And in order to pull that off, to make sure he doesn't have a clue that I'm onto his little secret, from here on out, I'll have to train myself to think of him as two different men, one of whom is my rookie partner… and the other a superhero—who really doesn't yet know himself who he is.

As we closed in on the upper story windows of the Planet building, he pursed his lips and blew out a stream of air, and the large panes of glass parted inward to admit us inside. I was only vaguely aware of the cacophony of gasps and murmurs of surprise from our fellow reporters and staff below as we sailed in. I couldn't tear my eyes off his face, and the wide-eyed awe written all over my face was quite genuine indeed as he finally set me carefully back down on terra firma. It wasn't until much later that it dawned on me that he had as promised given me a lift right to my very own desk. Good thing, too, since I probably wouldn't have been able to stop a burst of laughter if I'd realized it at the time.

I think I heard Cat Grant making some smarmy comment about me being literally swept off my feet, but I was still too enthralled to really pay her any heed. Why should I when I had six-plus feet of handsome staring at me the way he was? After a very long moment, I realized I should probably say something before flies started taking interest in my agape mouth, and my heavily-clouded reporter's instincts kicked in.

"I—I think considering the fact that I saw you first, you owe me an exclusive," I managed with only a slight stutter.

Again, his smile broadened and those eyes twinkled ever more merrily. "Is that the rule?"

_Oh God, he's teasing me. That's just not fair. _"Well, no," I reply, scarcely able to hold back a decidedly school-girlish giggle. "But I'd appreciate it very much."

He didn't answer verbally, just letting out a hint of a chuckle before he turned away and lifted up off the ground in defiance of gravity once again. _He can fly! The impossible man of my dreams really does exist, and he really can __**fly!**_

As he made his graceful way through the air and back toward the still-open window through which we had entered, I pushed and shoved and elbowed my way through the crowd as close behind him as someone gravity-bound could. "Wait a minute!" I called out, a note of panic tinting my voice. "How do I find you?" The question may have been for the crowd's benefit, but I was still curious as to how he'd answer.

He didn't pause in flight, but he did slow down as he glanced back over his shoulder in my direction. Speaking again with that slightly-unfamiliar deep voice, he answered, "I'll be around." _I'll bet,_ I thought in some vague corner in the back of my mind. And then he was gone, out the window and sailing off into the wide blue yonder.

As I stood staring into the space he'd just vacated trying to catch my breath and calm my nerves, I again heard the noxious voice of my co-worker Cat Grant ask if I learned what the "S" stands for. "Super," was my breathless one-word answer. Then, in a flash of genius inspiration, my eyes grew wide as I expelled, "Superman!" in breathy proclamation—hey, he hadn't given himself a name, so someone had to do it! I knew then that this was the day my entire life changed forever—the day my life really began.

As soon as I was sure I could walk without my knees wobbling, I made my way back to my desk, eager to begin writing up this story of a lifetime. I may not have that exclusive interview yet, but I was the only reporter to get that up close and personal with the world's newest superhero, and I fully intended to make the most of it.

No sooner did I hit the button to send my copy on to Perry, than I heard a report coming in over the bull-pen's police scanners about a terrorist shoot-out. It sounded like the perfect follow-up for my super-rescue story, so I grabbed my jacket and began to make my way toward the elevators just as Clark was making his return to the newsroom. Before he even made it to the bottom of the ramp, I accosted him and led him back up towards the lifts.

"Clark, where've you been?" I demanded.

He did a lousy job of hiding a knowing smirk as he answered, "Around." I had to bite my own tongue to keep from smirking back.

But I couldn't resist baiting him a little. "Well, not that it's anywhere near as exciting as the stories you covered on the Smallville Press, but Superman was here in the newsroom and I've just about nailed down the exclusive."

"Well congratulations," he offered, even managing to sound genuinely sincere.

The urge to tease him further was just too strong to resist. "You should have seen him, Clark. Up close… he is the most magnificent figure of a man that I have ever—

"Sounds like he made quite an impression on you," Clark cut in, sounding more than a little self-satisfied.

I had to bite my tongue again before I could make a suitably goading response. "He did…" I answered in a voice laden with syrupy hero-worship. "Why? Are you jealous?" I couldn't resist adding.

"Should I be?" he quickly replied.

"Of Superman? Puh-lease!" I grabbed his arm again and fairly dragged him to the elevator doors. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Terrorist shoot-out on sixth," I replied as the doors slid open. "And Kent," I continued as we stepped inside. "I'll ask the questions." I didn't even wait to see his responding expression as I turned my back on him to face the closing doors with a sigh of smug satisfaction. This was going to be fun.

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End file.
